Remembering
by AzureSkye23
Summary: In the Third Age, Sauron protects the women of his household...and remembers one from long ago.


Remembering

It was an unspoken truth in Barad-dûr, that Sauron, the Dark Lord, Morgoth's feared lieutenant, had a chivalrous streak. Sauron's more brutal underlings quickly learned that women they brought in for their amusement would often be taken from them, and even those who became fond of abusing their prisoners in such a manner would often mysteriously disappear. Bayat, who was officially head cook—but unofficially closer to chatelaine—and who was one of those women who had been rescued by Sauron under the pretense of 'needing more servants', watched as her kitchen was filled with more people than she had tasks for, and merely smiled.

However, none of the knew that one of the things Sauron had hated most about Ar-Pharazôn was how he treated his wife, and that the reason Annatar had left Eregion before the creation of the three was that Celebrimbor had struck on of the only female smiths in his workshop, and one of Annatar's few friends.

And no-one except Sauron himself knew that the reason for it all was guilt. Guilt over the fate of a Maia even younger than he was.

_"I am sorry, my Lord, that I could not come sooner," Sauron said with a low bow. "But my underlings are useless; I could not leave things to them, even for the time it would take to report. And I was the only one who could get through, any other I sent would have been destroyed."_

Morgoth still looked displeased, but mollified, and Sauron breathed an internal sigh of relief, though his face did not change. Everything he had said was true; he had simply left out the part where everything had gone wrong and he had been scrambling to do damage control. He had been very glad of the fact he couldn't get a messenger through.

"Very well," Morgoth said. "I have no new orders at this time. You may go." Sauron bowed again and left, not needing to be told twice. He returned to Tol-in-Gaurhoth, and didn't think much more on the subject. Until she showed up.

"Thuringwethil?" Sauron whispered. The ruined creature in front of him smiled painfully.

"It's me," she said. "I'm your new messenger."

"But your brothers…" Sauron began.

"They're mostly insane now," Thuringwethil interrupted. "And they never really would protect me."

"I tried to," Sauron said in low voice.

"By breaking my heart?" Thuringwethil asked. "It doesn't matter anymore. He knows. I always thought the ones who went insane when Morgoth broken them were the unlucky ones. I've learned better now," she added in a whisper as she walked past Sauron deeper into the fortress. Sauron closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall with an expression of pain, remembering the past.

_"Thuringwethil, I didn't have a choice," Mairon snapped. "Gothmog and his little group messed up and now the Valar know of the Quendi. Melkor was not going to forgive that. The only thing I did was keep myself from sharing their fate."_

"But still—"Thuringwethil began.

"There was nothing I could do, Thuringwethil," Mairon interrupted. "And you shouldn't be here. If Gothmog found out—your brother hates me." He trend and began to walk away.

"But I love you!" Thuringwethil exclaimed in desperation. Mairon froze, before turning quickly, coming back and taking her by the shoulders.

"No, Thuringwethil," he said intently. "You can't. You know what Melkor does to those Maiar who care for each other. And he always finds out."

"So you don't love me," Thuringwethil said in a small voice.

"I can't, Thuringwethil," Mairon said quietly. "And if you truly loved me, you wouldn't. Perhaps if we were serving any other Vala…but not here. Never here. I'm sorry." He walked away, hardening his heart once again, as he couldn't help but hear the soft, heartbroken sobs of the young Maia behind him, if she had ever had a choice, probably would have served Estë.

* * *

Ages later, Sauron sat alone at the top of Barad-dûr, remembering the young Maia who had loved him, and who must have thought of him when she died. He still didn't know how exactly she had met her end.

"I hope Atar took you home, Thuringwethil," Sauron murmured, raising his arms and releasing the small bat he held, watching it fly off into Mordor's ever present gloom. "For you didn't deserve the fate you had."

* * *

**So I know I haven't replied...to anyone. But I found out this evening that one of my favorite fanfic authors has passed away. He was the one who started me off on this whole crazy road writing about the Ainur. **

**So I hope, Fiondil, that you are chatting with Tolkien about all the leaves you've painted. Thank you for all the inspiration you've given me. **


End file.
